How was it he’d been a poet for years and now couldn’t remember a single one of his own poems? He wrote some of the more popular ones down. Did his wife still hold those as mementos, or had she tossed them in a fit of anger?
Women are so sticking unpredictable, he decided. But then that’s why we love them.
Stehlen. Now there was an unpredictable woman. Shouldn’t that mean he loved her all the more? It made sense but Wichtig doubted its veracity. Who the hells could love that murderous bitch? And yet someone did. He thought back to how Lebendig looked at the little Kleptic. Stehlen murdered the Swordswoman and yet Lebendig fell in love with her killer. Lebendig must have nefarious plan for revenge. It was the only sane explanation.
Sane. What a gods-sticking joke.
The surgeon stood and squinted down at whatever he did to Wichtig’s missing toe. “Done,” he said, reaching for the Kartoffel and finding it empty. “Just in time.”
Wichtig watched the old man leave, and tried to decide what to do. The bed beckoned. He felt like he could sleep for a thousand years and still wake tired. He lifted his hand and stared at the fresh white bandages. His old bandages lay strewn about the floor, dark and stained and stinking. Gathering them in his whole hand, he tossed them out the open window. Sounds from the tavern below leaked through the floor, muffled and insistent. What are they talking about? Were they still discussing his fight? Were they talking about him?
I have to know. Discarding his bloodstained bed sheet, he selected a fresh one from the bed and wrapped it about his hips.
Better.
Jaw clenched against the pain, Wichtig felt his way to the stairs, one hand always pressed against the wall for support. He descended slow and careful, unwilling to spoil his entrance by falling perfect arse over scarred face.
As the tavern’s patrons caught sight of him they fell silent and he graced them with a flourished bow only slightly less gorgeous for his need to keep a grip on the stair railing. The inn exploded with applause and cheering and offers to buy Wichtig drinks.
Much better.
Limping to a table far from the bar and its mirror, Wichtig collapsed into a chair. Each time someone brought him a cup he nodded and said nothing, gesturing at his ruined lips if anyone tried to drag him into conversation. Already drunk, the night became a blur of faces and words. Maybe kartoffel wasn’t as bad as he thought. Maybe everything was going to be okay. Maybe once the stitches were removed the scar would give him a more rugged air. Maybe.
Hadn’t he been thinking about finding a woman when he first rode into whatever town this was?
Unbrauchbar, some part of his booze-soaked brain offered up. Too drunk for a woman. And he didn’t want to see what he knew he’d see in their eyes. He thought back to all the times he flinched away from Stehlen’s smiles, and poured more kartoffel down his throat.
Is that me now?
Someone said something funny and Wichtig couldn’t remember if it was him. Probably.
Anger. Harsh words. Steel and blood and more kartoffel and someone lay underneath Wichtig’s table keening like a stomped kitten. Wichtig rested his sore foot atop whoever it was.
More faces, some so young they didn’t need to shave. Bright eyes, eager. Swords and daring words bragging of future deeds.
Missing toe forgotten, Wichtig danced. Steel slashed red with blood. Schnitter said she would optimize him and maybe she did. Maybe she pared away a little of the extra flesh. He didn’t need it. He was faster now. He danced and spun like a darting fish in the lake, liquid and beautiful. His fresh bed sheet once again stained red he stared at the half dozen swords laid out on his table like trophies.
Where the hells did those come from?
Wichtig drank the kartoffel someone put in front of him.
When was the last time he ate?
Pain.
Everything hurt.
His foot. His hand. His head.
Specially his head.
What the rutting hells is that stench? Puke? Had someone puked on him?
Wichtig cracked an eye open and groaned. He lay sprawled on the floor in a gelid pool of kartoffel vomit. Rolling over he found himself staring up at Morgen’s face, reflected in a stained window. The boy looked down at him with interest. He was young again, like Wichtig remembered him before the wee shite Ascended.
“Guh,” said Wichtig, his lips leaden and puffy.
“Rough night?” asked Morgen, raising an eyebrow.
“What took you so long?” Wichtig tried to say.
Apparently understanding, Morgen grinned his happy little boy grin and Wichtig realized the kid was filthy, his hair caked with dirt, his clothes stained and crumpled.
“You’re a mess. Reality catching up with you?” said Wichtig around his ruined lips. The kid looked messy, but oddly happy. I don’t remember him ever looking this content.
“Funny, coming from you,” said the boy, taking a long moment to examine Wichtig. “Especially now.” He grinned again, showing brown teeth. “Anyway, I’m not Morgen.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
How fortunate for Gefahrgeist that the people they rule don’t think.